


eyes wide shut and it feels like the first time

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Elio, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Elio Turns Eighteen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Endearments, Eventual Happy Ending, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Sex, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Reference to Switching, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Rimming, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Oliver, True Love, alternative ending, everyone is legal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: His birthday celebrations came and went in a fanfare of food, presents, hugs and kisses. He had enjoyed it, there was no mistaking that but the hole in his heart made it difficult for him to really lose himself. Sure, the alcohol helped and the dancing and the singing until dawn while fireworks went off in the sky, lightening up the heavens like a messy paint pallet of watercolours, but the creeping loneliness and sorrow of losing him was still fresh in his mind.He was getting married.When Oliver had come back to visit to tell them the news, Elio had fooled himself into believing that perhaps their relationship would continue where it left off. But after that messy, desperate kiss and Oliver saying, “I can’t do this”, his heart had dropped into the depths of his stomach and the sickness he felt with every waking moment, the pain and heart wrenching awful feeling that soon Oliver would no longer – if he ever was – be his.





	eyes wide shut and it feels like the first time

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, I can’t remember if Elio’s birthday was ever mentioned in the book. I’ve also forgotten (I have a scatter brain) what their appearances are described as in the book, so I’m using the actors look which I’m sure, if I can remember, is the same as the book.
> 
> I couldn't leave the ending like that. I'm no master of the written word, not like André Aciman and I haven't seen the film yet, so excuse me for any mistakes or terrible writing. I just wanted to write this to make myself feel better because these two deserve love and happiness together, not apart. 
> 
> Important: Age of consent in the UK, where I am writing from is 16 and in Italy, it is ridiculously low, at 14. Regardless of the country I am in, I 100% will always write characters in relationships as 18 or over. 
> 
> Oliver is 24 here and Elio is 18. He is legal. The events of the book have already happened and I do not go into detail about it, because as much as the book was written beautifully (consensual), I do not feel comfortable writing about this pairing, unless Elio is 18 which he was due to turn in the novel anyway. 
> 
> I own no one. Any mistakes are my own. Song lyric as title from Rita Ora's and Avicii's Lonely Together.

* * *

His birthday celebrations came and went in a fanfare of food, presents, hugs and kisses. He had enjoyed it, there was no mistaking that but the hole in his heart made it difficult for him to really lose himself. Sure, the alcohol helped and the dancing and the singing until dawn while fireworks went off in the sky, lightening up the heavens like a messy paint pallet of watercolours, but the creeping loneliness and sorrow of losing him was still fresh in his mind.

He was getting _married_.

When Oliver had come back to visit to tell them the news, Elio had fooled himself into believing that perhaps their relationship would continue where it left off. But after that messy, desperate kiss and Oliver saying, “I can’t do this”, his heart had dropped into the depths of his stomach and the sickness he felt with every waking moment, the pain and heart wrenching awful feeling that soon Oliver would no longer – if he ever was – be his. His prince, his fellow lover of books and words and music, the man who had given him love and sweetness but pain, hunger and sorrow, would belong to someone else.

That had been Christmas or rather, Hanukkah.

And Elio’s eighteenth birthday that September had been one of his worst. He thought that Oliver had come to not only celebrate the holidays with them, but also his birthday. Clearly, it hadn't gone that way. It was as if he was mulling through life in a haze, a bubble that had been burst, every time he passed Oliver’s spot, or the times they’d spent at the pool, where they’d kissed on a berm where Claude Monet had painted some of his pictures. When he past the bookshop, saw the bookseller, rode on his bike, everything reminded him of Oliver and that awful, sinking, plummeting feeling would creep back into his heart, wrap itself around his throat and would not let go, until he broke down, sobbing. It was now, spring. He only had a couple of weeks left of school and soon, he would be going to university.

He wondered if he would meet another Oliver, another person, one who would cherish and hold him and keep him and love him in the ways that Oliver hadn’t. But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he knew that no one could ever touch him like Oliver had. Their love was something special, unique and bittersweet, one day it would be a memory for Oliver, one amongst his many others. But for Elio, it would be treasured, painful and untouched.

“He did love you,” Vimini told him one afternoon as they dipped their feet in the pool and watched the sun set in the distance, a hazy round, golden ball of light that had once made Elio feel warm and calm when Oliver had been with him.

Elio said nothing. He merely turned away and tried not to cry.

*

Elio wondered if all love felt like this. That if the loss and sorrow that pierced his heart would forever hurt him. He didn’t know. He hoped not. How could he possibly go on if the pain was this intense? It was coming around to the newcomer for the summer, for their next guest to take Oliver’s place, sleep in the bed that Elio and Oliver had made love, to walk in his steps and replace the feelings that had come and gone with Oliver’s presence.

It was almost too much to bear.

He had graduated and received his grades. He’d done well and gotten into the university he had applied to in the States and the ones that he’d applied to as a backup in Italy and London. He was sure he was going to the States where he could be close to Oliver but out of reach. Never to see him again. The summer’s rain smelt like Oliver after the pool, after their nights together and it was the last he’d ever spend at home, pining. He decided he would spend his years after university travelling to get away, to be free, to meet a new Oliver, a man, woman, person, become a version of himself that could sleep and eat. That could love and love and _love_ , without regrets and pain.

On the night of their newcomer, Elio spent the hours in his room. He tried to sleep, eat, read. Do anything before the morning came and the newcomer would be standing where Oliver once had. He stared up at the ceiling and said his name, _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver_ and then _Elio_ , as Oliver had called him. And then, he’d call Oliver by his name, like Oliver had called Elio by his own. By the end, the tears that had been lodged in his eyes had clouded his vision broke free and he was sobbing into his pillow.

It was two in the morning when the knock came. Elio thought he was dreaming. Perhaps all his calling and wishing and wanting had forced Oliver to his doorstep. But he knew realistically that it was probably their newcomer, arrived early.

And then he heard his mother’s voice, “ _oh, ciao Tesoro!”_ He heard her sniffling and embracing someone, “Signor Ulliva, what happened?”

Elio’s heart jumped. He sat up in bed and dared not move, breathe, blink in case the next moment he realised he was hallucinating. Tears sprang to his eyes and his hands started shaking, his body trembling like his heart was pounding, faster and faster in his chest, too fast, too much. He couldn’t breathe, he felt like the ground was shaking out from underneath his body, he was hot, sweaty and cold at the same time, desperate for this thing to be real.

“I needed to see him,” Oliver said and a cry forced its way out of Elio’s lips. He jumped out of bed just as Oliver said to his mother, “is he up? I’m sorry. This is so improper of me to turn up on your doorstep with no phone call or letter –

“No, no,” Elio heard his mother say and he could hear her smile in her voice, “come in, come in. You must be freezing, you’re drenched. I’ll get you a towel, we’ve had a lot of rain the past few days.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said. Elio heard some rummaging around in the kitchen cupboards and then rustling as Oliver dried himself. Elio forced his feet to move, for his heart to allow him this pleasure, for his mind to give him this, to accept that Oliver was here.

He rushed out onto the landing and flew down the stairs. His mother turned to look at him with a knowing smile before she disappeared somewhere behind him. Oliver was standing there. Drenched, shivering and perfect. His hair was a mess but those beautiful eyes stared back at him, open and vulnerable, there was a shake in his hands as he stepped closer, as if afraid Elio would push him away.

Those blue eyes looked back him, that ruffled hair, darker now that it was kissed by the rain, brown and dark blond strands in his eyes, those lips parted. Elio felt as though he couldn’t breathe, there was a distance between them, a wall, a block of ice that needed melting.

“What are you doing here?” Elio finally asked.

Oliver stepped closer and then paused, “I had to see you.”

“ _Why_?” Elio asked, his voice cracked, tears rolling down his cheeks.  

“Because I…I love you,” Oliver finally said, then again easier, until he had repeated it three times and the words rolled effortlessly off his tongue, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Elio wanted to hide in his arms and never come back out. “If you ever really loved me or do now, look me in the face, hold my gaze and call me by your name.”

Oliver’s reply came easily. He smiled as if he were blinking and came closer until he was right in Elio’s space, towering over him. “Oliver,” he said, loud, strong and forceful, then softer, sweeter and as a desperate whisper, “Oliver, Oliver, _Oliver_.”

Elio stared up at him and then wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, like he had on their last meeting and brought the older man down to his mouth, kissing him for the whole world to see. Oliver let out a muffled growl and wrapped his arms around Elio, he was wet and cold and fevered in his touch but never once did he let go of the smaller man.

He held him close, right against his body until all of Elio’s warmth was Oliver’s warmth and Elio’s touch was Oliver’s. His mouth parted and sought away into Elio’s, tasting him as he had all those months ago, he smelt like cologne and sunshine and rain and love and Elio was drowning in him, in his touch, in those lips on his, in the tongue on his own, in the way Oliver held him possessively, hungrily, desperately, lovingly.

“Elio,” Elio said when they pulled back. He was crying and so was Oliver, they were both shaking and whole and broken and perfect together. “Elio. _Elio_.”

Oliver smiled, cupping Elio’s face, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He whispered it after every one of his soft kisses, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, his neck and jaw. “I love you.”

Elio’s throat closed up for a moment and then the tears that burst through clouded his vision and he whimpered, like he had all those moons ago, “I love you too. Please don’t leave me again. Don’t let me go, so long as you breathe. I couldn’t bear it if you did.”

“Never, never again,” Oliver promised and then embraced Elio.

In the background, Elio’s mother sniffed and turned out the light to leave the couple alone.

*

That night, Oliver slept in the same bed he and Elio had made love. They didn’t do anything apart from hold each other, watching as the other lay in front of them as if hoping this wasn’t a dream.

“What happened to your wedding?” Elio asked, snuggled in his blankets with Oliver’s arm wrapped around him. Oliver’s other hand was stroking his cheek, while their legs were tangled together.

After their reunion, Elio had helped Oliver, as he had done months ago, with his bags and set them in his room. Oliver had then showered and changed into sleepwear, before climbing into bed with Elio. Immediately, his hands were on Elio, holding him close, pressing him to him, afraid that something would separate them.

“I broke it off,” Oliver said, “I wasn’t in love with her. I wasn’t happy with her. One morning, I woke up and she was planning the seating chart and I stood there, wishing it were you I was talking to. I never stopped thinking about you all these months and she knew that. She told me to come to you.”

“Would you have, if she hadn’t suggested it?” Elio asked. He needed to know. He needed to know that Oliver loved him as much as he loved him.

“Yes,” Oliver said, strong and powerful, “I know it in my bones, as a writer knows their story, as a poet knows their rhymes and a songwriter knows their notes, that you are what I want, need, love.”

Elio blushed and put his face in Oliver’s neck, hiding his tears there, “please never let me go.” Repeating his words from earlier. “ _Please_.”

“Never.”

*

They were at the berm when it happened.

This time they talked and talked and had spent the night talking. But at the berm with the sun high in the sky and the trees shading them and the beautiful view, the river nearby and the greenness surrounding them, Oliver had taken Elio’s hand to his mouth and kissed each of his fingers, down his wrist and arm to his shoulder and neck and jaw.

“Oliver,” he whispered in Elio’s ear, “you are beautiful.”

Elio giggled, “you sound like you are complimenting yourself. Quite arrogant.”

Oliver drew back, hovering over Elio. His knees were planted on the blanket beneath them, just on the underside of where Elio’s ass was pressed to his thighs, legs bracketing Oliver’s hips. Oliver braced his hands either side of Elio’s face, and nudged his nose against the younger male’s. He smelt like strawberries, burnt paper and rosemary linen. _Home_.

Suddenly, Elio stopped laughing. He wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck and played with the hairs on the nape of his neck. “You are the beautiful one,” he said, voice hushed.

Oliver shook his head and then because the words were lodged in his throat, he leaned down and kissed Elio. The kiss was soft, sweet and slow. Like waking in the morning to hear birdsong and seeing the sun rising in front of your eyes, like hearing the sound of music playing, your favourite song kissing your ears, inviting you in and keeping you.

“I want you,” Elio whispered, “please, please, please.”

Oliver smiled, breathless. He kissed Elio’s tears and licked at his neck, “you have me.”

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Elio sighed happily. “I want you inside me, I want to feel you in my belly, in my throat, in my heart. I want you everywhere. Can I?”

Oliver groaned in his ear and repeated Elio’s words back to him, “yes, yes, _yes_.”

And then Oliver’s hands were all over Elio’s body. Time bleed into the summer’s morning and the touch of home was all Elio could feel. Their clothes fell off their shoulders, off their skin and hands replaced linen and Elio’s heart was exploding in his chest.

“I love you, I love you,” Oliver growled into Elio’s fair skin, mapping his lips across the expanse, nipping and sucking, marking, claiming just as he had done to his heart, to his soul, body and mind.

“I love you too,” Elio gasped when Oliver sucked on his pulse point, and then put his hands on his hips. “I am yours and you are mine.”

“Yes,” Oliver rasped and then began removing Elio’s trousers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Elio nodded, “are you?” And Oliver knew he wasn’t just talking about this but everything, their lives, what would happen next, the next morning and the morning after that and after that.

“How can I not be?” Oliver asked, “I am as sure of it as I am when I write or read or listen to you play the piano, as I am to the songs we sang and the poets and writers we discussed.”

Elio let out a happy sigh and nodded, allowing Oliver to remove his trousers fully, then his own and the rest of their clothes disappeared too. As the sun gleamed down on them and birds soared in the sky, Oliver’s hands mapped Elio’s skin just as Elio’s did for him, lips on fevered skin, words whispered into mouths, desperate words, hungry for each other, for forever.

They took their time, Oliver had brought Vaseline and some other kind of lubricant in his carry on.

“Did you really bring it?” Elio had asked.

To which Oliver had replied, “I just thought…I didn’t know. I didn’t not want to have it, if you don’t want to –

Elio giggled, “of course I do.”

That had been last night when all they had done was kiss and hold each other.

But now was _now_ and Elio was on cloud nine. Oliver’s mouth wandered lower and lower, past Elio’s cock and balls, down to his ass and suddenly, Elio’s back arched and the whimper he had been holding it burst through his lips. Minutes faded into the blue sky and Oliver’s tongue was inside Elio, in places he’d never been touched before him, slick fingers helped to open him up slowly, delicately, gently, as to not hurt him, his tongue led the way until Elio came all over his own belly.

“ _Oh_ ,” he moaned and whined and arched, “oh, oh,” he sobbed, voice higher and higher as he soared and behind his eyes watercolours exploded on a canvas, lighter and brighter, darker and smooth, holding him as Oliver’s hands did and then Oliver’s lips were back on his and there was something else entering him. Something thicker, larger and longer and Elio’s back snapped upwards, legs wrapped around Oliver’s back like he loved to do.

It felt like heaven having Oliver inside him again, those hips thrusting and that spot inside him that ignited and lit up his body like a thousand stars. Sweat on his skin, lips on his, falling away into the warmth above him, into the man that would forever hold him. Elio knew what it felt like to be inside Oliver and as wonderful and special as that was, nothing could compared to this.

To feeling like he meant so much more, to feeling like he was flying. He wanted this and only this, for Oliver to stay in him. Oliver was a dominant man by nature and though, he would do whatever Elio wanted, like when they had switched things up earlier in their romance (which had been mesmerising) but this, where their mouths were panting into the others, eyes open and “I love you’s” said between them, Oliver’s hands on his hips, their bodies joined this way, nothing could compare.

“Please come for me,” Oliver whispered against Elio’s mouth, licking in there.

Elio did so beautifully, eyes wide and wet, tears streaming down his cheeks because he couldn’t believe they were here, together again. And when Oliver emptied himself inside Elio (inside the condom), the younger man whimpered, clutching at Oliver desperately.

“Please, please, please,” he sobbed, frantic, holding Oliver closer, trying to disappear into that muscled body and hide away from the world.

“I promise, I’ll never leave you again, love,” Oliver whispered, nosing at Elio’s neck and together they came down. Their bodies were sticky and hot, sweaty but in the haze of summer, none of that mattered, none. It was perfect and beautiful in all the ways it should have been months ago.

Elio fell asleep that morning on Oliver’s chest when they’d cleaned up as best they could. In his sleep, Elio dreamt of all of the summers and winters and springs and autumns they’d have together.

The sinking feeling in his stomach was finally gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to see the film, I will on Tuesday and I'm hoping that the planned sequels will end happier than the book, with them together, is that too much to ask? <3
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are welcome!


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